


God 'bless' marriage

by dresoria



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Crydamoure!Guy - Freeform, Daft Punk Slash, Label!AU, M/M, Multi, Roule!Thomas - Freeform, Sex, Unrequited Love, liars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dresoria/pseuds/dresoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is basically a small story thing, I mean I'm working on a longer DP slash fanfic, but the idea just suddenly appeared in my mind, and I had to write it all down before it was gone. Also, English is not my first language, and I was too much of a lazy ass to proofread, sorry for the grammatical errors or something. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God 'bless' marriage

**Author's Note:**

> This was written from the POV of Crydamoure, there's really not much to say, but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.

Then she was just there. I cried. I cried every single day since then, and fucked. Fucked a lot. Fucked all living shit out of myself, so that I would feel better but didn’t. I fucking didn’t. Instead, I married a psychotic loony bitch who wanted me to fuck her even more. She had a great ass, though, she reminded me of myself, well, that part. I knew this would happen, but I couldn’t fucking change it anyway; happy family and such, but poor little independant Guy-Man gets left out of papa Thomah’s dick, back then it was not a problem of his. Not even the day before. Alcohol, caffeine, smoke and I have become like best buddies or whatever, I wouldn’t even be surprised if I died from a fucking heart attack right now. So my life went like, I woke up, cried, smoked a cigarette, cried while smoking, then drank, cried while getting drunk to cry some even more, went to a club to get some hot chicks to fuck then threw them out and cried some more, drank again then cried myself to sleep. What a good routine. I either felt like a fucking sex machine or just a depressed idiot with bad habits. We divorced after two weeks, because all we did was fuck and fuck other people. This ’relationship’ was not healthy in any way possible. Turns out she was preagnant with my fucking twins; more Homem-Christo to be born, huh? She moved to California not so long after, so she wouldn’t have to see me again, but kept bothering by calling around 3 AM in the middle of my crying session to say she’s madly in love with me and she wants to fuck me until I’m dead. Good. Remind me to change my phone number. Thomas calls sometimes, but I don’t really take the time to pick it up, since I’m too damn busy ruining my own life. I really want to be a selfish asshole just this one time and finally commit suicide, but I figured there wouldn’t be anyone to miss me so matter of factly, it wouldn’t change a thing. Tonight I lay on my bed, trying to figure where I messed it all up or something. I was a queer. A fucking queer who was in love with that lanky bastard. I wish I could stop those heart-shaped tears welling in my eyes. So instead of sleeping, I ended up thinking about his shifty smile and how he stuttered all the fucking time I mananged to tease him with my flirtatious nature, and God, the way he fucked me.. Yet I can’t be enjoying the memories all the time, I need to fucking remember how he fucked me even the night before introducing me to Élodie and telling they’re getting married. What the hell did that putain Roulé think? Saying he’s always loved me, purring how and where he wanted to make me his and how much he desired me. That night was the hottest night of my whole life, he’s never fucked me so hard like I almost fainted from pleasure, the love marks are still visible on my bare neck and I can’t spend a day without having someone asking about it. That fucking queer knew what he was doing, he fucking pounded into me, always found that one spot that made me squeal like a fucking enfant. Oh god, I loved the way he fucked me. He yelled my name, I obeyed every single word of his, earning a small ’good boy’ and an ’I love you”, that made me happy, but hell knew it was a fucking lie. That’s it. I’m going to wait until he calls again, then keep it cool like ’what’s it now, liar?’ and end the call. Great idea, Crydamoure, the Bangalter will see! ……….

I sighed. Oh, god damn it, another day of crying.


End file.
